


don't stop, work me over

by whogoesupyourwindingstair



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dry Humping, Light Masochism, M/M, Nipple Play, Top Niall, does back scratching count as a kink?, implied d/s dynamics, post-concert sex, submissive zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whogoesupyourwindingstair/pseuds/whogoesupyourwindingstair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s on the agenda tonight?” Niall asks, voice half an octave lower than normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't stop, work me over

**Author's Note:**

> Just another lil' PWP. On the fence about whether this should actually be rated E, but I decided to err on the side of caution.
> 
> This is not beta read, so apologies for any typos, sentence weirdness, and/or alliteration. The two wonderful ladies that generally beta for me are very much not into One Direction (music or fandom), so while they were nice enough to go over the first one for me without grumbling, I didn't want to subject either of them to it again. Ha? Still trying to figure out what I'm gonna do about that. Obviously I went over it myself, so I hopefully I got most of it.

There are some concerts that are nothing but taxing. All of them stumble off the stage afterwards with headaches, longing for Advil and a bed. Those nights they all struggle through fan interactions, grins tight and signatures sloppy before making their way as quickly as possible to wherever they’re sleeping that night. They split like they always do, Harry and Louis, Niall and Zayn, and Liam with his phone. Those nights, Niall and Zayn barely manage to get their teeth brushed before they’re collapsing into bed, tangled together like a couple of uncoordinated octopi.

Plenty of concerts leave them all riding adrenaline highs, unable or unwilling to come down. About half the time they’ll stretch their allotted fan time to the point of ridiculousness before shoving themselves into the same car and convincing their poor keeper that they simply _must_ be taken to a club _immediately_ , because obviously they didn’t get enough dancing done on stage. The other half, they split to go to their rooms without bothering to discuss it. Harry and Louis look like it’s physically painful not to have their hands down each other’s pants for the length of time it takes them to make it to the car, and Liam doesn’t bother to go farther than the dressing room before he’s got Sophia on the phone, voice too low to catch what he’s saying. Niall and Zayn catch the next car to the hotel and spend the night laughing into each other’s mouths, sex devolving into tickle-fights and slowing back to sex until they pass out laying on top of each other.

Then there are nights like this, where everyone comes off in a different headspace. Harry’s bouncing with how eager he is to go greet the fans, and Louis’ staring with glazed eyes as Harry’s arse moves up and down. Liam’s rolling his eyes at Niall and waving him off, and he and Zayn and tumbling out the backdoor to the car, barely pausing long enough to sign paper and photos and art and hands as they go, until they’re in the car and Niall’s pinning Zayn to the bench seat while Zayn groans a request to the driver to roll the partition up.

They’re careful not to get up to much in the car. Niall bites his neck while Zayn scratches up and down Niall’s back through his shirt, both biding their time, wanting the privacy of a hotel room as long as it’s an option. Sometimes the drive takes five minutes and sometimes it takes a half hour or forty-five minutes, but the longer they’re stuck the more likely it is that by the time they pull up to the hotel Niall’ll have his hands buried in Zayn’s hair and Zayn’s mouth will be a mess of spit and precome. Doesn’t matter, though – they’re masters at throwing themselves back into their clothes the second they feel the car slowing and being out the door as soon as it’s (mostly) stopped.

They get to the room with all their clothes on, miracles of miracles, and without having scandalized any security guards that might have been watching the feed from the elevator but then Niall’s slamming the door shut behind them and throwing the locks while Zayn starts to strip. He’s down to his pants by the time he stops to dig through the covers looking for the lube.

He’s just got his hands on it when Niall comes up behind him and drapes himself over Zayn’s back. Niall’s a wall of fucking _heat_ , setting his teeth in Zayn’s neck, low enough that he can worry the skin between his teeth raw without repercussion and hard enough that there’s no question it’ll bruise. Zayn feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. His toes are curling in the carpet, and he’s rocking back into Niall’s hips like he can’t stop, grinding against Niall’s dick like if he just _tries_ hard enough, he’ll be able to fuck himself onto it without stopping to take his briefs off. Niall groans, both hands coming around to slip down the back of Zayn’s pants and grab his arse and start to knead it the exact way Zayn made the mistake of telling him he liked it.

Niall gives his neck one last hard suck, lips smacking obnoxiously as he pulls away. Zayn imagines how purple it’ll be in a couple hours and feels his knees go a little watery, dick twitching painfully.

He manages to kick his pants off without interrupting the motion of Niall’s hands, still greedy and possessive and all over his arse like he owns it. There’s nothing overtly domineering in the touch, just Niall’s absolute certainty that he’s allowed to handle Zayn however he damn well pleases because Zayn wants him to.

Niall sinks his fingertips in and pulls Zayn’s cheeks apart just hard enough to suggest a sting, and Zayn’s head drops back onto his shoulder, lips open around a moan.

“What’s on the agenda tonight?” Niall asks, voice half an octave lower than normal. The way his thumb rubs over Zayn’s hole, pressing until Zayn starts to give, leaves no doubt what he’s gunning for. Zayn’s arse throbs in response, but he doesn’t know if he can hold off coming long enough to actually get Niall inside of him. There’s a nervous energy thrumming just beneath his skin, magnifying every touch, from Niall’s breath against his cheek to the carpet he’s got between his toes. There are times when Zayn’s like this that he’ll suggest something a little more elaborate that usual – he’ll ask Niall to use the paddle Zayn _knows_ he’s got squirreled away somewhere, because Niall’s good to him and never believes Zayn when he swears he won’t need it, or Zayn’ll ask Niall to pretty please tie his cock up so Zayn can’t come and use him however he wants. Sometimes all it takes is asking Niall what _he_ wants, quiet and soft, with his head tilted so his neck’s bared, because then Niall’ll dredge up the memory of the last time he was having trouble getting himself off and what he was imaging doing to Zayn when he came. Tonight, though, it all sounds like so much _work_.

Zayn forces himself to turn around, whimpering when it dislodges Niall’s grip, and loops his arms around Niall’s neck. He leans in to ask for a kiss, presses his lips chastely to Niall’s until Niall fists a hand in his hair and pulls ‘til he tilts his head and opens his mouth. Niall bites hard at his bottom lip and licks it better and bites again, sucks it into his mouth to sooth it and digs his teeth in while Zayn goes frantic with it, every tiny shock of pain shuddering through him and settling in his dick. When Niall pulls back, Zayn makes a noise of protest loud enough that there’s no pretending he’s not needy as fuck.

Niall just looks at him for a second and his pupils dilate impossibly further in response to whatever he sees in Zayn’s face. Zayn can hazard a guess; he can feel how glazed his eyes are, knows how sore his mouth feels. He sighs while he takes in the beginnings of beard burn on Niall’s chin, and he unwinds one arm from the death grip he has on his boyfriend to run his fingertips over it gently. Niall lets him pet for a moment before he grabs Zayn’s wrist, pulls him closer to press a kiss to his palm, and then shoves him hard, sending him stumbling back and collapsing onto the bed. Niall’s over him, kissing him again before Zayn’s head meets the mattress. Zayn thinks he remembers Niall asking a question, but he’s fairly certain he’s not the only one that doesn’t care about the answer at this point, judging by the volume of Niall’s groan when Zayn drags his nails down Niall’s back, just hard enough to leave angry-red welts in their wake.

Niall props himself up with one elbow, hand tangling in Zayn’s hair again without thought while the other one drags down Zayn’s side, feeling the way his chest is heaving while Zayn struggles to get a full breath in. Zayn sighs and shivers in response to every touch, feeling like everything’s bigger and brighter than usual, electric.

Zayn’s whole body shudders when Niall drags his hand back up Zayn’s side to his nipple, fingernails digging in with no prelude and no give, three fingers tight enough to be a clamp. Zayn whines and licks at Niall’s lower lip, pleading as much as he can without being allowed to speak. Niall shifts and their teeth clink awkwardly for a half-second before one of Niall’s thighs is snug between Zayn’s legs. Zayn groans and grinds his hips down, ready to _weep_ with gratitude, greedy for the friction.

Niall fucks his tongue in and out of Zayn mouth with the same tempo Zayn’s using to hump his leg. Zayn doesn’t know that what he’s doing can properly be called kissing Niall back at this point – he lets Niall move his head and keeps his mouth open, whimpering on every exhale and feeling like there’s a supernova building in his gut. Niall’s laughing at him a little, Zayn can feel it in the tremor in Niall’s sides, but he honestly doesn’t give a fuck. He can feel his orgasm hovering just out of reach, can almost taste it when Niall suddenly _twists_ the grip he’s got on Zayn’s nipple, making him yelp. Niall uses his nails to pull at it until Zayn’s whole pec is throbbing with a dull ache that makes Zayn’s dick leak, precome puddling on his stomach. The pain eats at Zayn’s self-control until he can’t stop moaning and his hips have lost all semblance of rhythm while his body tries to figure out if it wants to writhe away from Niall or closer to him. His legs tighten around Niall’s thigh and his nails sink into Niall’s back, trying to ground himself and failing spectacularly.

Zayn becomes almost twice as loud when Niall breaks the kiss with nothing to muffle him. Niall bites his way down Zayn’s throat, pausing a moment to suck at the hicky he already left, before he gets his mouth around the nipple he hasn’t been clawing at. Zayn’s back arches violently, nothing between his arse and his shoulders touching the bed as he shoves up into Niall’s mouth. His movements are becoming increasingly frantic, all of him moving against Niall like he’s in _heat_ , straining towards his orgasm and not being able to quite reach it.

It’s right there – _right there_ , building bright and hot in Zayn’s stomach, making him clench his teeth and curse. Niall’s mouth is doing wicked, evil, _wonderful_ things, setting sparks off behind Zayn’s eyes that burst in time with the rough bites and sucking, but nothing’s doing it, nothing’s _enough_.

“ _Please_ ,” Zayn hears himself chanting on a loop. “Please oh god oh _fucking Christ yeah shit_ Niallniallniall!”

Niall hums and moves his mouth to the other nipple, rolling it between his teeth without mercy, just pressure and pinpricks of pain. Zayn makes himself wrap tighter around Niall’s thigh and build his rhythm back up, grinding up and dragging down until he’s shouting, until he finally comes with a scream of relief.

Through the white noise, Zayn feels Niall lift his head and bite down again on the bruise he left on Zayn’s neck. Zayn’s just beginning to relax again when Niall stiffens and comes over Zayn’s hip with a groan.

Niall collapses on top of him irreverently, making Zayn giggle and push him off to the side. A few moments later, they’re curling into each other, foreheads pressed together while they catch their breath. Niall’s breathing evens until Zayn opens his eyes and he’s asleep, mouth hanging open unattractively, making Zayn laugh at him again. Zayn feels a helpless welling of fondness and exasperation, and climbs out of bed far enough to grab Niall’s shirt and wipe the come off himself.

He thinks about being a good boyfriend and wiping Niall off as well, and decides that waking up covered in dried and flaking come would be a just punishment for falling asleep without so much as a good-night kiss. He cleans him off anyway before he gets back in bed.

They wake up in a heap, breathing in each other’s faces and arguing about who has to call for room service and accidently do it again, with two of Niall’s fingers tight against Zayn’s prostate while Zayn runs his fingertips along the welts he left on Niall’s back the night before.


End file.
